


and when the sky is starless

by firstaudrina



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Candles, Cemetery, F/F, First Time, Ritual Sex, Sapphic September, Wind - Freeform, Witches, fallen leaves - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:21:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26952076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstaudrina/pseuds/firstaudrina
Summary: This is what witches do — revel in carnality with abandon but never love; cast dark and deadly spells under sinister night skies. They kiss girls who once laid blood curses on them for kicks, and they like it.
Relationships: Prudence Night/Sabrina Spellman
Comments: 13
Kudos: 106





	and when the sky is starless

**Author's Note:**

> My final offering for Sapphic September, fittingly delivered 11 days into October and set in the middle of December. I used a medley of prompts for this, including: candle, graveyard, wind, witches, and fallen leaves. It's set during "Chapter Eleven: A Midwinter's Tale."
> 
> I recently stumbled across that apocryphal story of Mary Shelley losing her virginity on her mother’s grave, and my first thought was: Sabrina would. And now Sabrina has.

Sabrina comes with Prudence’s fingers inside her, dry leaves in her hair, and the wind whipping through the trees so hard it whistles. It’s not how she expected to spend her Christmas vacation.

It was after the failed séance that Prudence said, “There is another…well,” and cut her eyes to the side with that doubtful pressed-lip expression that said there was no point in telling the half-breed about it. But Sabrina had signed her name in the Book and given up her last inch of ground with the Dark Lord, so she was ready for anything. She wasn’t only different when she looked in the mirror now, she was different inside — she could feel it, parts of her shifting to make room for other things, a fire in her that needed feeding. 

She wanted to see her mom. She would do whatever she had to do.

“What is it, Prudence?” she demanded, forgetting that they were sort-of friends now and she could probably just ask. “Tell me.”

“I’m not sure it’s your sort of thing.” Prudence perched on the edge of a desk at the Academy, one leg crossed over the other, her hands loosely collected in her lap. “A peach as pure as you.”

Sabrina rolled her eyes. “Come on.”

Prudence sparkled with terrible mischief. “Sex magic,” she declared. “You know, _la petite mort?_ When you die your little death, it thins the veil for a moment — long enough to reach through. But I don’t think you got that far in your studies.”

Her nose wrinkled. She didn’t want to think about who taught _that_ at the Academy, but now she was thinking about it, and it made her want to douse her entire head in a pot of boiling water. “I’m not sure I want the first thing my mom sees to be me, uh —” 

“Just as I thought,” Prudence said airily. “Once a prudish half-mortal, always a prudish half-mortal. All the red lipstick in the world can’t make you what you’re not.”

Sabrina pressed her lips together, told herself not to fall for the bait, and then fell for it hook, line, and sinker. “Okay, so how do I do it?”

Prudence smiled. “Leave that to me.”

Prudence meets her in the graveyard, sitting atop one of the half-sunken-in gravestones, a silhouette in the thin moonlight. Sabrina has never been unnerved by the family cemetery or felt precious about the stones; she used to play hide-and-seek behind them with Ambrose, and sometimes they would even take their morning coffee side by side on the eternal resting places of Spellmans past. But Prudence is an eerie interloper, a storybook witch come to give a wicked gift, and Sabrina is very aware of what that gift will be. 

She’s come straight from the purifying bath Prudence told her to take so her hair is wet and she’s only wearing a white slip, her bare feet crushing the cool grass and her legs tingling with anticipation. “Hey,” Sabrina says weakly. 

Prudence snorts. “Which one is your mother’s?”

Sabrina points to a square, upright stone that stands out amongst its sloping brethren. It isn’t weathered or uneven like the other headstones, not mired in grass or weeds. It’s only as old as Sabrina is. She learned to spell her name on that stone and used to do rubbings of the floral relief that she would hang up in her bedroom. Sabrina isn’t sure there’s even anything in the ground. They buried whatever they got from the wreckage, but parts of her parents are still at sea. 

DIANA REGINA SAWYER SPELLMAN, it intones. She touches the letters lightly, Prudence at her back.

“Be glad you have a stone,” Prudence murmurs, her voice surprisingly soft. “Be glad you have a name.”

Prudence’s mother was lost to the water, too. Sabrina reaches back to take her hand, but Prudence’s fingers flinch away. When her voice comes next, it’s brisk and businesslike.

“Do you remember the incantation? You’re going to have to have it memorized for when the moment comes. And elocution always — no swallowed vowels or consonants.” She begins to set candles on the stone, blowing gently on the wicks so that little dancing flames blossom to life. 

Sabrina smiles a little. Prudence being Prudence is almost comforting. “Yes, Sister Night,” she jokes. “I studied the material ahead of time.”

Prudence reaches out to tap Sabrina’s nose condescendingly. “No one likes a brown-noser, Sabrina. Now get on your back.”

Her ease gives way to a shiver. “Are we just going to — start?”

Again Prudence’s amused smile, the quirk of her eyebrow. “In a moment. Lay back.”

Sabrina sits, then lets herself fall against the dirt and grass, the crown of her head just brushing the gravestone. The sky above yawns wide and black, dotted with pinprick stars like witches’ marks. She always knew the wrong names for the constellations because witches called them different things — there’s the shape of Ophelia’s Demise, and there the Poison Cup — and Harvey thought she was making them up just to entertain him. She liked thinking that she sort of was.

Prudence is still bustling around, her skirt dragging on the ground and whisking around Sabrina’s hips and legs, the elbows of her folded arms. She’s set incense to burn, its woody smell mixing with the cool night air, a breath of warmth down through Sabrina’s body. Despite the chill wind, it’s not as cold as late December ought to be, which Sabrina is grateful for — though she wouldn’t mind blaming her shivers on something more mundane. 

Prudence stops at Sabrina’s feet, looming over her with that dangerous smirk, a white candle in her hands. She’s wearing black lace from head to toe that shows her skin through and, when she shifts her weight, Sabrina realizes there’s nothing underneath — just the unmarked line of Prudence’s hip, the slightly darker shadow of her nipples. She looks different in a way Sabrina can’t put her finger on at first and then she realizes — no lipstick, short nails. 

“Is that manicure for me?” Her light tone belies the awkwardness she feels with her hands folded on her ribcage, knees knocked together.

“Yes,” Prudence says, languid as she folds to her knees. “You’re a virgin. I didn’t want to start you off on the ropes course.”

“How thoughtful.”

“Very.” She may have forgone her stiletto tips, but Prudence’s nails are still perfectly painted as she curls her fingers over Sabrina’s knees, the polish opalescent in the flickering candlelight. “Are you ready?” 

Sabrina nods.

“Part your legs.”

Heat curls low inside her. She does, the slip sliding up her thighs, and Prudence touches her for the first time — lightly, her fingertips a shock of heat in the raw winter air — and then retreats. She trails her fingers over the surface of the white candle, which is carved all over with symbols. She anoints it. Then she holds it out to Sabrina. “Blow.”

Sabrina pushes up slightly to do it, her eyes closed so she misses the moment the candle flares to life. Prudence reaches up, up, up to place it with the others.

“Now,” she says, her voice rich, “we can begin.”

Sensation prickles over Sabrina’s thighs and arms, but she finds something to say anyway, as she usually does. “Wait.”

Prudence sighs loudly, expecting this, prepared for Sabrina to pump the brakes. “What a waste of perfectly good moonlight —” she starts, but that’s all she gets out, because Sabrina kisses her.

She wasn’t going to leave this night unkissed.

Prudence startles and settles in the same breath, her mouth turning plush but not compliant, indulgent but not yielding. Her hand glides up the center of Sabrina’s throat like a reminder of that, pointer finger nudging the underside of her chin to tip her head back and up so the kiss can open, deepen, so Sabrina will remember who’s kissing her. Sabrina had kissed Harvey until her jaw ached and her lips buzzed and she’d never spared a thought for kissing anyone else; even though they’re broken up, even though everything has changed, even though she’s a real witch now, there’s still something clandestine about kissing Prudence Night in the family cemetery. This is what witches do — revel in carnality with abandon but never love; cast dark and deadly spells under sinister night skies. They kiss girls who once laid blood curses on them for kicks, and they like it. 

Prudence jerks at the neckline of Sabrina’s slip and it makes the sound of a dozen tiny threads snapping but doesn’t actually rip. Instead one thin strap rolls off her shoulder, exposing her skin to the cold, nipple hardening before being immediately taken into the heat of Prudence’s mouth. Her tongue drags over it slow and deliberate; her teeth narrow in; she sucks. Sabrina inhales so sharply she chokes on it, hand flinging up instinctually against the freezing stone before frittering away to grasp the back of Prudence’s head. Her buzzed hair is soft, the skull beneath solid enough to hold onto.

She feels Prudence grin. Her nipple is still caught carefully between Prudence’s teeth, which bear down a little more with the motion. Her tongue flicks out one last time before she pulls off to say, “Having a nice time?”

“I’ve performed worse rituals,” Sabrina breathes. 

Prudence’s grin widens and curls as she sits back on her heels. Her hand lands almost casually at the crest of Sabrina’s thigh, fingers fanned over the crease of her leg as her thumb dips down to press against Sabrina’s clitoris. A light touch to start and then a lazy massage, an absent circling. “Good?” she wants to know, but the lift of her eyebrow implies that she already knows it is.

Sabrina keeps her hips still but can’t quite stop the flutter of her eyelashes. “Could be better,” she says, and Prudence laughs. She abandons Sabrina entirely to run her hands up Sabrina’s chest and back down again; palms her breasts, one bare, one under silk. Sabrina does wriggle a little then, and feels grass against her skin, leftover autumn leaves disintegrating underneath her. 

“How would you know?” Prudence murmurs, just to salt the scrape. But she’s already drawn back between Sabrina’s legs like she can’t help it, like her fingers want to slide against all that slick skin. 

This time, Sabrina doesn’t take the bait. “I know what I want,” she says, and curls her fingers into the deep V of Prudence’s dress to haul her closer. Prudence doesn’t like to show her hand, but Sabrina sees it, the moment before their lips meet in another messy kiss: hunger.

Prudence’s black lace dress closes with a row of tiny hooks and eyes from sternum to thigh. It would be easy to dip around and under the fabric, to slip her hand inside to cup Prudence’s breast, to tuck fingers between her thighs. But Sabrina whisks each closure open with an impatient spell to get the sudden expanse of warm brown skin, a slice of Prudence from throat on down. Her nipples are pierced with small gold bars, two tiny green teardrop stones glimmering on either side. Sabrina gasps or gulps, catches the jewelry between her fingertips and tugs. 

Prudence makes a helpless little noise, a noise Sabrina didn’t know she could make. A jolt of boldness shoots through her and she curves her hand against Prudence’s cunt. From there it’s almost too easy to slip against and inside her, pulling her fingers from Prudence only to nudge knuckles against her clit. Prudence kisses Sabrina with bite and touches her back, her fingertips circling rough and insistent now, pushing her closer and closer. Sabrina can feel a tingling build in her thighs and stomach and hips that swirls to a zenith somewhere deep. She almost doesn’t want to come. She doesn’t want to stop.

Prudence’s weight is on her, Prudence’s chest against hers, both of them sheened with sweat that cools as soon as it hits the surface of their skin. All the heat is coming from inside. Their legs tangle, Prudence cradled by Sabrina’s hips; both of their hands working, arms knocking together. All that desperate friction but none of their usual competition, just both of them needing it, needing more.

“I’m going to,” Prudence says, and Sabrina tells her, “You better.” Prudence sinks her fingers into Sabrina, three pressed up tight together, and it pinches for a second, but only for a second. Her body feels so open, wet and waiting for Prudence, all puffed with wanting. She clenches and it feels — so odd, and good, and different. Prudence’s breath catches and she kisses Sabrina again, perhaps to bury it, and makes a sound like purring.

Sabrina comes with Prudence’s fingers inside her, dry leaves in her hair, and the wind whipping through the trees so hard it whistles. Her favorite sound in the world. It’s like music. 

Prudence withdraws her fingers only to bring them to her lips, sucking lightly on skin gone glossy. “There’s no blood,” she says, “if you do it right,” which is something Sabrina has no response for, so it’s a good thing Prudence puts her hand back down to join Sabrina’s. She urges Sabrina’s fingers inside her and rubs her clit herself, seems to do it just how she likes it, angling the touch against one side. Sabrina feels it when she comes, Prudence’s body clasping her tight, drawing her deeper. Two white-haired witches under the waning crescent of the moon.

After a moment of mind-numb breathlessness, Sabrina realizes, “I forgot to do the incantation.”

Prudence, slumped with her cheek on Sabrina’s shoulder, snorts. “Oh no,” she says mockingly, shifting just enough to slide down Sabrina’s torso until her lips find the inside of Sabrina’s thigh. She licks a slow stripe up Sabrina’s still-pulsing pussy. “I suppose we’ll just have to try again.”


End file.
